[ General Nazyalensky has ended up in stranger places, sure. Although there's certainly far more company this time around. Fewer immortal saints that she's heard of, but part of her still feels like she is stuck between one reality and the next. Talk of journeys and travels seem trite now, she almost expects Juris to walk out from behind one of the village buildings and give her some lecture on a path of redemption.

How should she reasonably be expected to forgive herself for her list of crimes when Ravka likely grows only more desperate in her absence?

Zoya, about as unfriendly as the locals, has apparently met her match in them. She can almost appreciate the efficient way she is able to secure a ride to the castle, even if others would consider it rude. It is tempting to want to look out only for herself when so few had in her life. This is not Ravka; these are not her Grisha. She owes them no loyalty or compassion when they're in the same sort of unlucky circumstances Zoya will just grit her teeth and claw her way out of.

But Saints, some of these travelers just look like they are in desperate need of help... ]

Come. [ She gestures for them to follow her up onto the back of the coach, her tone more of a stern command than a request to be refused. It'll be a bumpy ride, but better than walking. ] Unless you want to spend your night in a barn and pick hay out of your clothes for days.

[ Or don't. She's not your mom. ]

[ Zoya enjoyed relaxing with a novel when she could afford the time, which was... never. But there is little else urgently occupying her mind for the moment. She pulls one of the shelf, leather bound and well-loved. Standing at the shelf, she flips to the first few pages. It begins the story of a girl and her aunt journeying together, full of hope and love as bright as two shining stars in the night sky.

She slaps the book closed, her eyes raised to the ceiling. What sort of cruel joke was this? She clutches the book close to her chest, setting it down only when she walks over to the red bestiary.

Should anyone try to grab her leather-bound book, she is quick to slap their hand away, her voice as sharp as a crack of thunder. ]

Don't touch that.

(closed prompt to kirigan)

[ Zoya has stopped on a rather predictable page in the book of beasts. Her fingers trace over the words and the ferocious illustrations of dragons, rulers of the sky, seas, and fire. Ruthless with an impenetrable armor. Capable of protection but also great destruction.

She is not so enraptured by the book that she does not notice the familiar stalking of the man she had once devoted herself to, the man who had taken her loneliness and rejection and shaped her into a warrior, who had convinced her that she would help him change the world.

And then she was tossed away, useful only as a tool until something shiny and more brilliant came along. Her jealousy was an ugly thing spun from rejection and forged in the fire of her fury. She grits her teeth, nostrils flaring. She turns her head sharply to the side as her tight jaw works, swallowing something down. She is angry with herself, a fool played so easily. ]

I am not sure what surprises me more. [ Her voice is thick with an icy venom. ] That you've been offered a shot at redemption or that you deigned yourself to take it.

[ Honestly... this is not quite what she had expected when venturing into the dungeons, but Zoya has never been one to say no to a glass of wine. Or a thrilling tumble if the right opportunity presented itself. She helps herself to a deep red from a passing tray, taking in the sights as if she is selecting another bottled vintage from the assortment available. ]

I would have thought they'd be stuck-up prudes based on their attitudes in the village.

[ throw a different start at me or hit me up on plurk hellbender to hash something different out! ]